


Need

by 9haharharley1



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 13:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5968422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9haharharley1/pseuds/9haharharley1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan's thoughts at the end of Renovationklok and after the concert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Moved from FF.net. Not beta'd.

Nathan was fucking pissed.

 

He’d just started the first song of the concert, only for it to completely black out. The record company had shut them down. That asshole Damien had interrupted his music, had interrupted _him_. Nobody interrupted Nathan Explosion. Nobody.

 

Charles never would have let that happen.

 

He really missed their CFO.

 

Charles did everything right. He made sure that they somehow would not get themselves killed; he made sure the Gears had all of their meals prepared correctly. He made sure that they never ran out of money. Charles would have never let some scrawny, little _asshole_ interrupt their concert.

 

Charles Offdenson is what fucking _made_ Dethklok.

 

And this… smarmy, little _bastard_ , standing all pompous and proud in front of Nathan, was threatening to _shut them down_. Didn’t this guy realize that Dethklok was the reason he made money? Even Nathan knew that.

 

Now, with the guys standing sullenly behind him, Nathan was pretty sure he was signing over the band.

 

He glared darkly, hatefully at Damien. He glared at the contract.

 

God, he really fucking missed Charles.

 

Then, just as he put that stupid, fucking pen to paper, the door burst open. The light from the hallway flowed into the dimly lit room and Nathan turned around, vaguely aware that the guys did, too. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light.

 

The man (since he had no distinguishing curves) had a familiar figure. Nathan dared not to get his hopes up. It was the same petite stature, the same aura (don’t ask him how he knew that).

 

The figure stepped forward. And, goddamn, did Nathan feel something light inside. His eyes brightened at the sight of the CFO. And, damn, did the guy look hot (Nathan Explosion would never admit that out loud, thank you very much). It was the most casual the guys had ever seen him, even Nathan, who spent the most time with their manager. Jeans, t-shirt, a fucking leather jacket; his hair was mussed, no glasses, and a totally badass scar running down the side of his face.

 

 _God_ , Charles was fucking _gorgeous_.

 

Though he thought it was hot, the front man also felt an intense rage sear through him at the thought of how that scar got there. And he knew just how he was going to handle it.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Damien, the bastard, took an angry step forward. Bingo.

 

Nathan slammed a fist right into the side of the dildo’s wrinkly face. Standing over him triumphantly, Charles walked up next to him, glaring down at the record head.

 

“You boys have a show to do,” he stated. God, Nathan had missed those dulcet tones. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here when you’re done. Gonna have a little meeting with these guys.”

 

And with that, Charles Foster Offdenson shooed them out of the room, just like old times, and Nathan’s intense gaze lingered on his manager before leaving the room.

 

~*~

 

“Why won’t you tell us where the fuck you went?” Nathan growled angrily, arms crossed, hulking figure cornering Charles in his office.

 

As soon as they got back to Mordhaus, Charles had dodged all the questions the band had about his return and excused himelf to go hide out in his office. After about thirty minutes, Nathan had strategically avoided the guys and followed his manager. He had knocked on the door three times before entering and locking the door behind him.

 

“Because you boys don’t need to know just yet.” Charles sat in his long-unused desk chair and stared up at the imposing figure. “I promise I will tell you in due time.”

 

Nathan growled. “You keep too many fucking secrets.” But he wasn’t angry. Not at Charles. Never at Charles. Charles was too fucking perfect. Dethklok thought that they could manage themselves. Yeah, right! Their CFO was the only guy in the whole freaking world who was brutal enough to manage Dethklok.

 

They knew that now.

 

“I only do so to keep the band safe.” The smaller man looked up at Nathan over the rims of his glasses. “To keep _you_ safe, Nathan.”

 

Nathan uncrossed his arms, a heat flaring up in him as he leaned his hands heavily on the desk and leaned over. “Say it again.”

 

Charles raised an eyebrow.

 

The front man suddenly felt nervous. “Say it… again. My name.”

 

The other brow rose. “Nathan?”

 

Nathan exhaled slowly. He walked around the desk to stand next to Charles. Charles rolled his chair back so he could gaze at him fully. Leaning over slightly, Nathan rested his hands on the arms of the chair.

 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he husked out. He leaned his forehead against the other man’s.

 

The seated man managed a small smile. “I missed you, too, Nathan.” He loved that the lead singer of Dethklok was the biggest teddy bear in the world. And Charles was the only one that got to see it.

 

He placed a short, chaste kiss against Nathan’s lips before pushing him back and standing up. Nathan groaned and stared at him in confusion.

 

Charles just smirked and walked a few paces away towards a door that hid his bedroom. He stopped at the door and turned back towards the frozen singer. A lustful look clouded Charles brown eyes.

 

“So,” he started. “Do you want to show me just how much you missed me?”

 

Nathan’s eyes widened before snapping out of his reverie. A slow smirk lit his face and he pounced on Charles, backing him into his bedroom to show _his_ CFO just how much he needed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best.


End file.
